


Always Watching

by invisible_butterfly



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Invisibility Cloak, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rutting, Sexual Tension, Voyeurism, Watford Eighth Year, actually, and then they're fighting, and then they're not, baz pining dramatically, non-, simon obsessing over baz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisible_butterfly/pseuds/invisible_butterfly
Summary: What happens when an invisibility cloak is thrown into the mix of anger and tension that Simon and Baz have been stirring up for years?Sex, lots and lots of sex.How?Read, and you’ll see.Or: Canon-divergent 8th year AU in which all the SnowBaz tension culminates into a, let’s just say, heated climax. No coffin, no truce, and the anathema doesn’t exist, instead there’s an invisibility cloak.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 102





	Always Watching

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd, sorry for my incompetency in all things British, and silly me forgot about the anathema so please pretend it doesn't exist while you read this story ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Warning: this contains non-consensual voyeurism. (Please only practice voyeurism in real life with consenting individuals. For more information, you can always pm me @a-queer-butterfly on tumblr.)

Baz is battling between studying for a Latin exam and watching the sunset reflect on Simon’s skin during his Sunday afternoon snooze, when a package thumps against their window. 

The medium-sized box doesn’t succeed in slipping through the open-crack like letters usually do, so it decides to back up and recalculate it’s trajectory, only to thump again. Seeming confused, it keeps attempting, but to no avail.

Can’t expect more from a shabby cardboard box, Baz supposes. It’s not much different from Simon, really: rough, unpolished, and always trying to barge into things. 

Unfortunately, the thumping wakes Simon from his beauty rest. 

He looks over at Baz, annoyed, saying silently, _aren’t you gonna get that?_

Baz raises an eyebrow at him. _Get what?_ (He can’t help it, he can’t resist the urge to battle with a sleepy Snow.)

Simon juts his chin towards Baz, his eyebrows crossed stubbornly, accepting the challenge. With a _hmph!_ he twirls himself around and pretends to go back to sleep. 

It goes on for a while, the box thumping repeatedly against the window, Baz scribbling casually in his notebook, and Simon sighing dramatically every few minutes, before Simon finally snaps. He quickly bolts up into a sitting position. “Go get the package, Baz,” he orders. 

Simon’s stern voice speeds sharply through Baz: into his ears, cutting down through heart, his stomach, until it settles in Baz’s groin. Baz has to take a deep breath before looking at Simon with a straight face. “Too busy studying,” he replies.

“But your bed is closer!” Simon argues. 

“Is it, Snow? I never noticed...” Baz ponders. Even though he has. The window is at least a foot closer to Baz’s bed, making it even more insufferable that Simon insists on leaving it open a crack. “You should measure it and get back to me. _Maybe_ if you’re right I’ll _consider_ getting the package. I guess it would only be fair.” 

“B-but. Your bed _is_ closer. You- you should get your eyes checked!”

“Hmm,” Baz looks up pensively. “It _has_ been awhile since my last eye exam. Thanks for reminding me, Snow. I’ll book one for next week.”

Simon slams both his fists down onto the bed. Then he pushes himself up. “You- you-” he struggles. “You arsehole!”

Baz smirks, watching him stomp to the window and yank it all the way open with a clang. 

The package comes shooting into the room, as if it was preparing for a final blow to take the window down. It almost knocks into Simon’s bewildered head before it dashes and smashes into the door at the other end of the room. It holds itself there for a few seconds before the magic switches off and it falls to the floor.

Simon starts stomping towards it, throwing Baz a hateful look, but Baz notices Fiona’s writing on the card attached to the top, so he stops him. 

“It’s for me,” he says, waving Simon away. He gets up from his bed to go pick it up.

The card reads:

_Baz, don’t show this to anyone. It’s our secret._

_Promise to carry on my legacy of mischief._

_Love,_

_Fi_

Baz waits until Simon is asleep to open the box, and it appears empty at first, but when he puts his hand inside, he feels a soft fabric. He rushes to yank it out, but he already knows what it is. An invisibility cloak. 

Fiona has an invisibility cloak. Fiona gave _him_ her invisibility cloak. And he knew it was going to change his life. 

  
  


~~~

  
  


One week with the cloak, and Baz has Simon completely riled up. 

Baz has been using the cloak every day after class, and Simon has been searching for him relentlessly. Thankfully, they have different classes in the afternoon, allowing Baz to sneak into the washroom and throw on the cloak. 

Baz follows behind Simon as he searches, delighted by the reversal of roles.

Simon looks quite ridiculous, really: storming around campus, going in circles to retrace his steps, getting redder and redder in the face, blood racing through his veins, magic crackling, wanting to combust. 

In their room in the evenings when Baz returns from hunting, Simon swivels around and narrows his eyes at Baz, then storms up close to Baz’s face, breathing hot air onto Baz’s cool skin. He gives Baz this deep, intense look, trying to pin Baz in place. 

“I know you’re up to something,” he’ll say. Trying to make Baz believe _he’s_ the one in control of the situation. “I know you’re plotting.” 

“Oh, thanks for informing me, Snow,” Baz will respond. “Remind me, what am I plotting?” 

Simon will exhale loudly and push closer to Baz. “I’m gonna find out. Soon.” 

“That’s wonderful, Snow. Please keep me updated, I’m quite curious.” 

Simon will growl and his magic will spark, sending clouds of smoke into Baz’s lungs. 

Baz’ll slip to the side to get around him, saying, “As much as I’m loving our progress in this conversation, I’ve got to take a shower.” 

In the past when Baz would come out after his shower, Simon would always be asleep. Now, Simon will still be up, squinting at the bathroom door, as if Baz might magically disappear from the bathroom. He’ll only sleep once Baz pretends to fall asleep.

And, when Baz wakes up in the mornings, Simon will still be in their room instead of down in the breakfast hall. He’ll be casually sitting at his desk pretending to study, eyeing Baz every few seconds, and he’ll only go down to follow Baz, burning holes through Baz’s soul. 

It’s Sunday morning when Baz decides he needs a break from being in proximity to a sizzling Simon Snow. It’s always hardest when Simon’s wound up like this: fire embers from his magic flying out and landing all over Baz’s body, lighting him up then slowly burning him to pieces. It’s torture. 

In the breakfast hall, while Simon’s distracted mid-bite a scone (or mid-inhale, he should say), Baz quickly whispers to Dev and Niall, “I have to go,” and gets up to rush out. 

As soon as the doors shut behind him, he checks the hallway is empty then throws on his cloak. He returns to their room in Mummer’s feeling satisfied, knowing Simon will spend the whole day outside running in circles, giving Baz a day to rest. 

Baz picks up his notebooks then settles on his mattress with a sigh, cloak covering him and his books.

An hour passes before Simon barges in for the first time. The door shoots open classic Simon-Snow-style. Luckily Baz isn’t skittish.

“Baz!” he yells, hands held in front of him, prepared for a battle. He stays frozen there for several moments, squinting at all corners of the room, then lets out an angry sigh and stomps over to check the bathroom, to the same effect. 

He leaves behind a sweet & smoky smell, and Baz shakes his head. He will never be free from Simon’s smell. It will likely haunt him until his last breath.

The second time Simon barges into their room, it’s much worse. This time he doesn’t bother to look around: he just slams the door shut and stomps over to his bed to fall face-first. 

Baz is annoyed. It’s only just past noon. Simon barely allowed him a half-day repose. He tries to ignore Simon and go back to studying, but Simon is playing an orchestra with his groans and sighs and twists and turns. 

Baz looks over to see Simon lean up to punch his pillow a few times, muttering “That fucking wanker”, before he plops back down and continues his angry musical. 

While Simon struggles to enter into his Sunday snooze, Baz manages to tune him out and continue studying, until suddenly he freezes-

He smells it first. A new smell, one he thought he’d never have the luxury of smelling. Sweaty, salty, desperate. Blood pumping fast. A new kind of smokey: if the ocean were lit on fire, this is how it would smell. 

Baz looks up quickly. And there’s Simon Snow. Trousers discarded at the foot of his bed. Pants pushed down just below his balls. Shirt thrown over the side of the bed. 

Simon Snow, in only his pants. Simon Snow, with his head leaning back against the headboard, neck long and exposed. Blood thumping so close to the surface, so fast. Simon Snow, with his chest flushed red. Flushed a deep, delicious red, worthy of being licked and chewed and bruised even _redder_ . And- and Simon Snow’s cock, hard and held firmly between Simon’s thick fingers. Simon Snow’s rough, merciless, _fucking disastrous_ hand, pulling at his cock like it’s a battle. Squeezing his cock desperately, like the world might end if he doesn’t. And it might, it really truly might end without Simon’s intoxicating life-force holding everything together. Like fucking gravity, like a fucking dip in the space-time continuum, he’s the core, and every one else, everything else, is helplessly pulled towards him, gravitating around him. 

Simon Snow, with his other hand clenching in the sheets beside him. Simon Snow, with his legs spasming. Simon Snow-

_Moaning._ Baz has never heard such a sound before. He didn’t know it was possible for a sound to be that sensual, that electric, that _powerful_. Those moans could command him. With a voice like that, Simon could ask for anything and Baz would do it. Simon’s voice has always been erotic- guttural, passionate, raw. Especially around Baz, his voice gets so low and rough until it turns into a full on growl. And that’s when Baz usually stops riling him up and leaves, because hearing a voice like that for more than one second would destroy any self-control Baz has left. 

A thrill travels through Baz as he realizes he's invisible. 

Simon lets out an even louder moan, this time pushing his hips up into his hand, searching for more, and suddenly a selfish spirit possesses Baz and then he’s putting his books down, getting up and inching closer to Simon’s bed to see better, to smell more.

Suddenly, Simon lets go of his cock, pushes his pants down lower so they’re at his knees, and flips around so he’s got his face in his pillow, his cock pressed up against his sheets, and his hands grasped onto the head of his mattress. He quickly starts rutting against his mattress, near-constant groans leaving his throat and getting caught in his pillow. He ruts intensely, his firm arse clenching, pressing his cock into the mattress as hard as he can. His hips lifting up so high before he drives them back down. 

Baz almost moans at the sight, but quickly shoves a fist in his mouth. Baz’s cock is so hard it hurts, and he notices he’s started rocking his hips, desperately searching for friction in the air in front of him, but there’s none. He doesn’t let himself relieve the tension (knowing, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, to keep quiet. And also knowing, in the back of his mind, that that was a boundary he couldn’t cross. He’d already invaded Simon’s privacy enough). Instead, he clenches his fist, though his hips continue to rock forwards.

Simon is animalistic - he’s ferocious in his quest for release. He’s rutting so hard, up and down, up and down, ravaging his bed, and _groaning, groaning, groaning._

Then, just as fast, he surprises Baz again. He abruptly stops rutting into his mattress to sit up on his knees, facing his wall. He grabs his cock again and lets his torso fall forward as his other hand catches on the wall. He starts fisting his cock again, just as intense. 

Baz can tell he’s close. His whole face is scrunched up like he’s in pain, like he can’t take it anymore. Earlier his head was thrown back in pleasure, now his head is tipped forward, chin resting against his chest, like he doesn’t have the strength left to hold it up. His hips are rocking back and forth with each jerk of his fist around his cock, and it’s quite a show.

Baz can barely get a good look at Simon’s cock with how fast his fist is moving, but he salivates watching Simon’s balls swing with the movements of his hips. He wants to grab them between his lips and swirl his tongue around them as he rubs his nose into the base of Simon’s cock and inhales his smell. 

He wants to destroy every inch of Simon’s body. He won’t be satisfied until he has it all. He’ll never be satisfied when it comes to Simon Snow. He always wants _more, more, more._ He wants to do everything to Simon, he wants Simon to do everything to him. 

And then Simon is coming. His body clenches into itself, his stomach convulsing in intense spasms, and he makes a choked, breathless moan better than all the ones before. 

A whimper escapes Baz’s mouth around his fist. Baz is so close, he's so, so close to coming in his pants, but it’s not enough. He needs just a bit of friction, anything, anything-

He notices Simon looking his way. _Fuck_.

Simon heard. 

“Baz? Did I- are you- hello?” Simon pulls his pants up quickly, and moves to get off his bed. 

Baz stumbles back. He’s trapped, he’s got nowhere to run. He sees Simon’s eyes narrow in his direction and he freezes, helpless. 

Simon looks around the room for a while, his eyes catching on the books Baz left on his bed. “Huh? Baz? What the fuck?”

Simon starts towards the bathroom to find him, and Baz is paralyzed in place, because he knows what’s about to happen, his life is over, he should never have allowed himself to want so much, to- to take so much, because now-

Now, Simon is knocking right into him, and he’s tumbling to the ground, invisibility cloak falling to the side to reveal his legs. 

Simon, fallen on top of him, a knee on each side of Baz’s hips, _seethes._ “W- What the actual FUCK, Baz?” He yanks the cloak right off of Baz and sends it flying across the room. “Y- You-” he pushes Baz’s torso down into the ground, fists clenched in Baz’s shirt. Baz’s mind is stuck for a moment on the fact Simon is pressed against him in nothing but his _pants_ , before Baz returns to fearing for his life. (Though, he considers, this would not be the _worst_ way to die at the hands of Simon Snow, pressed against so much of his bare skin. Some of the cum on Simon’s stomach now stuck to Baz’s shirt.) 

Simon pulls Baz up by his shirt, then slams him back down. “You!” He does it again. Then Simon pushes forward until his flushed face is right in front of Baz’s. His nose is flared, his top lip curled, his teeth bared. “You- you-” 

“Use your words, _Snow_ ,” Baz spits. 

“Y- you. Standing above me while-” his eyes widen. “You were plotting to kill me! You were plotting to kill me wh- while- while I was - while I was-”

“While you were masturbating, Snow?” he provides. 

Simon’s face gets redder, and he clenches his fists tighter. “You- you snuck up on me- you- this is what you’ve been plotting these last two week. This- I should- I should kill you. Right now, I should kill you,” he growls. “I should end it right here.” 

Simon continues to stare down at him, breathing directly onto Baz’s mouth, staring so close into Baz’s eyes, smelling so much like _sex._ And he just stays there, staring at Baz, torturing Baz. And suddenly anger surges through Baz. 

He grabs Simon’s fists and flips them over, pinning Simon beneath him and holding his fists down on the floor. “Then do it already. _Kill me,_ ” Baz spits. “What are you waiting for? End it. _I dare you._ ”

Simon growls and tries to fight against Baz’s hold, but Baz is stronger. Baz smirks. “Or maybe…” he ponders. “Maybe I should end it, Snow. Right now. With you looking,” Baz lets his eyes drift down Simon’s body, “ _so vulnerable._ ” 

Simon growls and continues to fight against Baz’s hold. “Y- you… I- I hate you!” he yells.

Baz smirks. “I should…” he lets his head fall into the crook of Simon’s neck. “I should finally bite you, suck you dry. This is what you wanted, right? Chasing me, yelling that you know I’m a vampire. You wanted to see. Well, look,” he hisses, bringing his face right in front of Simon’s and baring his fangs. 

Simon’s eyes grow wide. 

“So, where should I bite you? Here?” He leans down and presses his mouth just below Simon’s collarbone, then looks up at him with his eyebrows raised. “Or maybe… here?” He moves lower, to Simon’s hips, and touches at the v-lines peaking up above his pants. “Or,” he goes even lower, until his mouth hovers over Simon’s inner thigh, “maybe you’d like it here?”

Simon is frozen, looking at Baz with wide blue eyes. Baz smirks again, and leans down to touch Simon’s thigh-

But right before he gets to touch his skin, Simon knees Baz in the face, wrenching his hands free from Baz’s grip, and flips them over again. 

Baz surrenders, letting Simon hold him down. Simon pushes Baz’s wrists into the floor, hard. “No,” he growls. “You’re not gonna kill me.”

“I’ll consider that option,” Baz responds. 

Simon growls again. “ _No_! You’re not gonna kill me,” he yells again. 

“You’re very repetitive today, Snow,” Baz teases. “But you’re right, I’m not going to kill you.” Simon’s eyes widen, then narrow. Baz continues, “But _you’re_ going to kill _me_ . So do it. _Do it_.”

Simon growls. “No!”

“No?” Baz asks. “Too weak to get the job done, Snow? Too scared?” 

He growls again. (Baz has never heard him growl this much in such a short period of time. Will Baz be able to survive this, even if Simon doesn’t slit his throat? No, Simon will definitely slit his throat.) Simon brings his face even closer to Baz’s. “I- I’m- I’m not weak! I’m not scared!”

“Then do it, Snow. I know you can do it. I won’t stop you.”

“No! Stop telling me what to do!” Simon yells, leaning so, _so_ close to Baz. “I- I… I'm not… I’m not going to kill you!” he yells, his eyes big, manic. “I- I’m… not going to kill you… I’m not…” he looks confused, frustrated, his face all scrunched up. His grip has loosened on Baz’s wrists. 

Baz flares his nose. “Of course you’re going to kill me, Snow. I was never going to kill you, so you have to do it. _You don’t have a choice_ ,” Baz sneers. He leans his head up, until his nose touches Simon’s, challenging him.

“Shut. Up,” Simon fumes, then his face pushes forward and knocks Baz’s head back against the floor.

His teeth hit Baz first, grabbing onto Baz’s lower lip roughly. Then his chin pushes against Baz’s chin, pushing so hard as if wanting to push him right through the floor. He pulls Baz’s lower lip up with his teeth, stretching it off Baz’s face, then into Simon’s mouth, and _sucks_. Baz whimpers. Then freezes. 

He tries to push Simon off. “Wh-what are you?”

“No!” Simon orders. “Stay down.” 

Baz’s eyes widen, and Simon’s stern tone comes to life in Baz’s mind, getting him to comply.

Simon leans back down slowly, letting his mouth travel along the curves of Baz’s face without actually touching. Just a centimeter above, like he’s searching, trying to find the best place to attack. 

Then he’s back above Baz’s mouth, and he finally surges down, kissing Baz, wet and _deep_ , digging into Baz’s face, trying to pull Baz’s face apart, trying to shovel right through Baz’s soul. 

It takes Baz a moment to respond, but when he does, tentatively, Simon groans and lets go of Baz’s wrists so he can grab onto Baz’s hair. Baz freezes again, unsure of what’s happening, unsure if he’s allowed to participate, but then Simon pulls on Baz’s hair, roughly, pulling it so his head tilts up, his neck exposed, his bottom lip even deeper in Simon’s mouth. And then Baz can’t stay still any longer, he can’t _not_ take advantage of this, whatever it is, whether it’s real or whether it’s just Simon’s sick form of revenge before he slices Baz’s throat, _Baz does not care_.

All Baz needs is to kiss Simon Snow. To touch Simon Snow. So he does. 

He lets his hands move to Simon’s back, and he starts touching _everywhere._ Along the bumps of his spine, then down the blades of his shoulders, around his sides, his stomach, up to his neck, his ears, his _curls_. 

Simon moves down to Baz’s neck, sucking and biting and growling in between. Baz moans, and lets his hands move down to Simon’s ass, separated only by his pants, and he squeezes. Then Simon pushes his hips down until they meet Baz’s, and their cocks collide together. 

Simon moans with his mouth over Baz’s collarbone, then decides to grab Baz’s shirt and pull it off, forcing Baz to lift his arms to help him. Simon throws it aside then quickly licks a line down Baz’s chest until he reaches Baz’s nipple, where he latches on and sucks. Baz moans, pushing his chest closer to Simon’s mouth. 

Simon chuckles. “You like that, Baz?” he asks, voice low and husky. 

“I- I- _ah._ ” Baz has forgotten how to speak. 

“C’mon, Baz,” Simon whispers. “ _Use your words_.”

“I…” Baz is losing control. He’s weak, with Simon touching him like this. He can’t fight. “I… can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t.” 

Simon moves lower down his chest and starts biting. “Can’t what, Baz?” Simon asks. 

“I- I can’t fight… You… You win,” he says. 

Simon lifts himself up, brows pushed down. “I win?” 

“You win,” Baz confirms, letting his head fall back and letting his hands fall to the floor. He lets all the force leave his body, and looks into Simon’s eyes. “You were always going to win.”

“Wh-what?” Simon asks. 

“I can’t fight you, Snow. It’s over.” 

Simon growls. Pushing against Baz, staring intensely into his eyes. “Wh- why?” Simon asks. “Why won’t you fight me?”

Baz doesn’t speak, keeps his face flat. 

Simon lowers his mouth back to Baz’s chest and starts biting. Angry, heated. His lips burning Baz more than his magic ever could.

Baz is dying, he must be dying. 

“Why won’t you fight me, Baz?” he asks, mouth not leaving Baz’s skin. “Tell me.”

Baz whimpers. He’s never seen Simon like this, so in control, so certain of his words. This time he’s the one riling Baz up. 

“C’mon, Baz. Tell me.”

_I’m in love with you,_ Baz thinks. _I’ve always been in love with you. I never hated you._ Baz shakes his head. _No._ He can’t lose himself like this. He can’t tell Simon how he feels. He couldn’t live another day knowing that Simon knows, that Simon doesn’t love him back. Simon would hate him even more, torture him even more. No, he could never tell him, because that would be worse than dying. 

Simon growls, and Baz can almost feel the vibrations go straight to his cock. He pushes his hips up to try and distract Simon. 

Simon growls again and moves back to grab Baz’s hips and push them down. “No,” he says. Then he looks up at Baz through his lashes. “Tell me, why won’t you fight me?” 

_No, no, no._ “I- I-”

“Yes?” Simon asks.

“I- I’m in love with you,” it leaves his mouth in a breath. He’s not sure he actually said it, until he sees Simon’s eyes widen. 

“What?” Simon asks. 

Baz shakes his head.

“What did you say?” Simon asks again.

“I’m in love with you…” Baz gives up, gives in, and then he can’t stop. Everything he’s been holding in for the last 8 years comes pouring out. “I’m in love with you… I never hated you. I’ve been in love with you for so long. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take it…” 

“Y- you… me? Baz?”

He looks at Simon, nearly naked, splatters of cum dried up on his chest, eyes open and waiting for Baz to continue. Baz inhales sharply. “You never leave me alone. Even when you couldn’t follow me around this week, I started following _you_ around. Even when I took a break, tried to relax, you were still on my mind, Snow. You- you’re insufferable. You haunt me like a nightmare. A _beautiful_ nightmare. I- I hate it. I can’t handle it. I- I _want_ to kill you, Snow. I wish I could kill you...” he looks into Simon’s wide eyes. “But I can’t.” 

Then Simon’s moving so fast. He lets go of his hold on Baz’s hips, unzips his trousers and starts to yank them down. Simon grabs Baz’s hard cock through his pants. Baz gasps and ruts up into Simon’s hand.

Simon growls and shoves his mouth into Baz’s cock, wide open and warm. He sways his head around, pushing into Baz’s cock at all different angles, trying to strike every sensitive spot, trying to kill Baz by making sure he can’t breathe. Baz is _gasping, gasping._

Simon leans up to pull Baz’s pants down until they reach his trousers at his knees, but then reality smacks into Baz. Baz is confused. What is happening? Why isn’t Simon yelling, punching, striking his heart with a sword?

“Wh- What are you doing?” Baz asks. 

Simon looks up at him, annoyed. “What does it look like?”

Baz frowns. “Don’t be daft, Snow. I mean, _why_ are you doing this?”

Simon frowns. “You’re ruining the mood, Baz.”

“Exactly what mood are you referring to, Snow?”

“I- this!” he exclaims, waving between them. 

“I don’t understand what this is, Snow. What are you trying to do?” Baz asks. “I’d appreciate some warning if you’re planning on stabbing me mid-orgasm. A dying man’s wish, you could call it.” 

Simon’s eyes widen. “Baz! I’m not planning on killing you while getting you off, that’s ridiculous!”

“Then please, Snow, tell me what you _are_ planning on doing _._ ”

“I- I… I hadn’t thought about it, Baz. I didn't have a plan.”

Baz raises an eyebrow. “You never think about things, Snow. You just stupidly barge in, no matter the consequences. It’s infuriating.”

Simon is getting worked up. “Well- I- at least I actually do things!”

Baz sneers. “Except kill me, it seems. You’re apparently incapable of doing that.”

“I- just… that’s cause I don’t want to, Baz!” he lets out an exasperated exhale. “I don’t know why, but I do know… I know I want to do _this_ ,” he gestures between them, “instead. Is that _ok_ with you, Baz?” 

“I- uh- yeah,” Baz fumbles with his words. “Yeah that’s good. That’s quite good.” 

“Now, will you please shut the fuck up and let me?” Simon asks.

Baz nods. Baz is done arguing. Whatever Simon’s twisted motives might be, he decides he has to just enjoy this. 

Then Simon scoots backwards and keeps pulling until he gets both Baz’s pants and his trousers off. Simon looks up, eyes traveling over Baz’s naked body. Baz is completely exposed to Simon, but it doesn’t make him want to hide. Instead, it turns him on more. 

Simon is wild. He swoops down to Baz’s cock and grabs onto the base, then swallows him. Oh. _Oh._

Simon never does anything half-way - he’s always intense, never holding back. It’s the same with this. He sucks Baz’s cock with his whole being, bobbing his head enthusiastically, letting his lips slip off the top so he can moan loudly and take a breath before diving down again (mouth breather), using his other hand to rub all over Baz’s hips, his stomach, his nipples. Simon starts rutting his hips into Baz’s legs, and Baz wishes he would take off his pants so Baz could feel his cock right up against his skin.

Baz moans. “S- Simon,” he gasps. “Y- you’re so good- _ah_.”

“Yeah?” Simon asks, voice rough. Then swallows him deeper, sucks him harder, digs his fingers into Baz, tearing into him, destroying him.

Baz is not going to last very long. Simon is eating his cock much like the way he eats scones, like it might disappear if he doesn’t inhale it all _right now._

He’s running his tongue along Baz’s shaft as he bobs up and down, and Baz is completely wrecked. 

“Simon, Simon, Simon,” he wants to sing his name. 

Simon reacts by pushing his cock harder into Baz’s legs. Knowing that Simon is turned on by this makes Baz’s stomach clench, his ball’s tense up. 

“S- _ah_ \- Simon I’m gonna-”

Simon pushes his mouth down so Baz’s cock hits the back of his throat, and Baz is coming, shooting into Simon’s throat, moaning Simon’s name. 

Simon pulls off, looking at Baz with the most sultry, dazed look, as if he was the one who just received a life-shattering blow job. 

“Baz, that was- you were-” he sighs. “So fucking hot.” 

Baz moans, pulling Simon up towards him. He _needs_ Simon’s cock now. It’s been trapped in the confines of his pants for too long.

“Get- get these off,” Baz says, pulling at the waistband. 

“Uh- you don’t have to, Baz.” 

“Snow, are you mad?”

Simon shrinks, and Baz’s heart squeezes. 

“Simon,” Baz says. “Simon, look at me.” Simon looks up at him. “I have been craving this for _years._ I get off to thoughts of touching you. All my wet dreams are about you. So, _please_ , let me touch you.”

Simon groans, wide-eyed, and gets up to pull his pants off, stumbling on his feet and falling awkwardly back on top of Baz.

Baz looks down at his cock, and it’s so delicious. Not too long, but _thick_ and red and full of blood. Baz remembers Simon rutting that cock into his mattress earlier, and he pulls Simon up until his hips are above Baz’s chest, and then he pulls his hips down so his cock pushes into Baz’s chest, between his nipples. 

“Oh my god, _Baz_ ,” Snow moans. 

“Keep moving, Snow,” Baz says, grabbing Snow’s arse, guiding him up and down. “I want to get you off rutting against me.” 

Snow groans, grabbing onto the edge of Baz’s bed behind Baz, and starts rutting frantically into Baz’s chest.

Baz moans alongside him, saying, “Your cock is so hard, Snow. It feels so good on my chest.”

“ _Ah_ \- _Baz_ -”

“Keep going, Snow. You’re so hot like this.”

Snow moans, his mouth wide open above Baz. “Baz- I- I-”

Baz has stopped watching Simon’s cock, because watching his face, twisted up erotically, is so much better.

“Are you gonna come on my chest, Snow?” 

“I- yes, _Baz_.”

Simon’s face tenses up, his hands clenched tightly onto the frame of Baz’s bed, and then Baz feels Simon’s cum shooting onto his chest, and watches Simon spasm above him, pushing into Baz a few more times before he falls down, settling on the floor beside Baz. 

A few seconds pass, before Simon says, “Baz, was that- did you- just _dirty talk?_ ” 

Baz looks away, embarrassed. 

“I should’ve known. You always have the right words, you’re gonna kill me with your words.”

Baz stays silent, wondering what’s going to happen after this. Wondering how he’s going to survive sharing a room with Simon after this. 

Simon stays silent too, and Baz can tell he’s processing things. Trying to swallow down what just happened. 

“Uh, Baz?” Simon says after some time. 

“Snow?”

“Uh, I think… I think I might… I don’t know…”

“Get it out, Snow.”

“Ah, I just,” he leans up on an elbow to look at Baz, and scratches the back of his neck. “I really liked that. That was like, _really good._ ”

“Glad I could give you a satisfactory orgasm, Snow.”

Simon blushes. “No, no-”

Baz raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I mean, yeah,” Simon explains. “Yeah, very- er, satisfactory, Baz. But I meant, I don’t know… I just _like_ talking to you, all normally like this.”

“I don’t think there’s anything normal about this, Snow.”

“No, I guess not. But it’s not fighting, is it? I mean, we’re talking, like, without yelling. Without me blowing up… I think, without hating each other?” 

“Very observant, Snow. I don’t hate you at this exact moment.”

“Argh, _Baz_ ,” Snow groans. “You’re so- so- you get me so frustrated. I’m just trying to say, you know, that I- I like you when you’re like this. You know… _not cruel_. Not trying to kill me.” 

Baz feels his heart clench, his stomach swirl. “I’m also pleased that you’re not trying to kill me, Snow. Guess I can start planning my life, now that I know I’m going to live past my Watford years.”

Simon is chewing his lip incessantly. “Baz,” he says, serious. 

“What, Snow?” Baz rolls his eyes.

“Baz, can you be serious now, please?” 

“Sure, Snow.”

“I think I like you,” he says, so blatantly, like those words don’t hold up the weight of the universe, like those words don’t slice up all of Baz’s intestines, then mend them back together, then destroy them again. “Yeah, I think I like you Baz.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Snow.” 

“No, no, it makes so much sense, Baz. It- I think it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense, Baz. I like you,” he looks into Baz’s eyes. “ _I like you_.”

“Snow, you hate me.”

“Baz, stop talking.”

And Snow surges towards Baz, and grabs Baz’s lips with his, like he’s claiming them, like he’s decided that he has every right to Baz’s lips now. To any part of Baz. 

And Baz melts. Baz is definitely, definitely dying. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've found companionship in the Carry On Universe this lonely holiday season. Let me know what you think of this (compliments, criticisms, all is appreciated). I might continue writing Invisibility Cloak AUs, maybe write a more elaborate version where Simon is the one who gets the cloak. And I've got many other ideas too he he he. 
> 
> Sending lots of love to you all.


End file.
